No, I haven’t dropped off the face of the earth. Not-So-Evil Dayjob has been increasingly busy, with seven meetings in three days next week. Luckily, I don’t have to attend said meetings, just write the reports. But me? I have three meetings in as many days next week, and fly out Thursday.
Ommigod, ommigod, ommigod, I’m getting on a plane.
I vacillate between excitement and terror as I think about it, but excitement is starting to win over. But there’s a little dose of reality in there, too. You see, I am meeting several women there, rooming with two, whom I have known for several years online. Argument could be made that the two women I am rooming with (with whom I am rooming, if you want to be grammatically correct) are some of my best friends in the world. They know almost everything about me. But we’ve never actually met.
That is the odd thing about the information age, I think. You can bare your soul in an email or in an online conversation, but never actually physically meet a person. One lady, I’ve never even heard her voice. And while I have never tried to be anything other than myself with these women, meeting them face to face will erase any remaining mystery. They are going to discover I am a total dork.
I have this fantasy of being his sophisticated, mysterious, professionally distanced woman. I’m not. I am loud, socially awkward at times, and I tend to share way too much information. I’m insecure, I think I’m stupid, and have big-time body issues. Yep. They’re going to find that out. If they hadn’t already figured it out for themselves.
But there’s a ray of light in my self-deprecation. I was reading Grey Matter this morning. Now these are professional screenwriters. Writers of a hit show. In other words, the type of people us writers tend to idolize and fawn over. Krista Vernof is blogging this week, and admits to being a little freaked out to being quoted by the New York times because she tends to overshare. She acts insecure, states that she is unqualified to blog about Dihanne Carol, and basically admits she’s a dork. Thank God. By the way, she even makes a few typos in her entry, which is of great comfort to me.
Another author I’ve been lucky enough to become acquainted with broods about her weight. My own boss, who I consider to be a very together, bright and professional woman, makes goofy mistakes from time to time. I take comfort in all this. It’s not because I take pleasure in others’ failures. It’s because if all these people I respect and admire can be dorks on occasion, it means I can forgive my little idiosyncrasies a little easier.
Maybe in the end we’re all just a bunch of dorks. Geeks. Misfits. Call it what you will, I think in the end what we all are is human. And thank God I’m not the only one.